


i'd make a deal with god

by MV_Agusta_F4



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Author is trans, Breakfast for dinner, M/M, Trans Galo Thymos, Trans Lio Fotia, late night bar hopping, pain induced by academia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26334313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MV_Agusta_F4/pseuds/MV_Agusta_F4
Summary: It's been two and a half years since the events of Promare canon. Lio contends with possessing aspirations after expecting death for a lifetime. Galo is a supportive boyfriend.
Relationships: Gueira/Meis (Promare), Lio Fotia & Galo Thymos, Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Kudos: 11





	i'd make a deal with god

**Author's Note:**

> in which lio is being crushed by academic stress and is also trans and has a wonderful loving supportive boyfriend. im definitely not projecting lmao

When Galo Thymos awakes, his apartment room is ablaze with a dying sunset’s glow. The temperature in the heat of the summer is high enough such that the single pane of glass which decorates his single 20” x 20” room has warped slightly, painting the inside of his room with wavering stripes of bright light. 

He spares a bleary glance to his alarm radio. The analog face displays 7:45 p.m. A couple of more minutes, then. He tugs the comforter over his face and promptly spaces the fuck back out. 

Five minutes later, limply swinging his legs over the low edge of his futon, Galo stumbles to his sink, splashing water into his face. The cold water abruptly situates him back into the normal flow of space and time. It’s Friday. T day. 

God, that’s why he’s been feeling so shitty for all five seconds of his present awareness of this day. It is not that he is the paragon of sloth, rather, he is just a man with abysmally low T levels. 

After furiously cleaning his teeth and taking a quick pomegranate-scented shower, he’s got all the supplies out for his sub-q injection. A sharp rap at the door makes him jump just as he’s about to stick himself in the soft layer of fat padding his lower stomach, his shirt hitched up and held under his chin so he can get a clear view.

“Be there in a second, or you can just let yourself in” he yells in the general direction of the door. 

A muffled, “Galo, we’re going to be  _ late _ … You get this is my final exam, right,” Lio’s voice is frantic on the other side of the door. 

He swiftly plunges in the needle and pushes down on the syringe, quickly injecting the viscous liquid in a manner that will likely elicit a bruise. He slaps a nondescript tan bandaid over the site, throws his supplies into his sharps container, and swings open the door. There’s nothing more motivating than crunch time, when it comes to self-injections. 

“Ah, sorry, sorry. It’s T day and I completely forgot till now. We’ll still make good time, though.”

As he opens the door to behold Lio, Galo gets why he didn’t just use his key to let himself in. Lio is presently squatting over a menagerie of texts and notes in the hallway, face pinched in concentration as he attempts to peruse all the information one final time. The acutely overwhelmed expression on his face is slowly obscured as he buries his head in his hands. His frazzled and greasy hair shines in a sickly corona in the low light of the hall. 

“Dude… did you get  _ any  _ sleep since our shift yesterday night?” 

A soft half-groan, half-scream emanates from Lio’s disconsolate form, followed by no further comment. 

“Okay, hooo boy. I’ve got Red Bull in the fridge, one second.” 

Galo emerges once more from his apartment with the promised can of Red Bull, proceeding to gently trade Lio for his textbooks and backpack. 

A few minutes later, Lio’s chugged his entire can of Red Bull, Galo’s packed his notes and books, and he’s pulled out his MV Agusta F4 from the parking garage. Galo extends a hand to Lio, pulling him up and onto the bike, and then they’re en route to Lio’s testing facility. 

The sun’s set, leaving a chill and darkness in the air as they speed through mostly empty streets. A fine mist of rain has begun to fall, lending an ethereal sensation to the ride as the droplets of water catch on street lights. Galo can feel Lio clutching to his back, his arms and fingers tremoring with exhaustion and caffeine. He hopes the ride is at least somewhat calming, taking a couple of backroads and quiet residential streets to avoid major traffic and light and noise. 

Galo’s never been one for the rigid nature of standardized scholastics, but Lio had thrown himself into it with an unparalleled fervor ever since stepping away from serving as poster boy of the Mad Burnish. Lio was still a pretty influential force in organizing for Burnish rights and safety, but was much less of a public facing figure and more of an internal strategist and community activist. 

“Lio, I’m sure you studied your ass off for this shit. You’re literally at the top of your class, yeah?”   
  
“Yeah, but this fucking final is twenty percent of my grade. It could still fuck me in the ass for all I know.” His voice cracks at the very end. Between that and the shuddering of his chest, he’s pretty sure Lio’s having a mini pre-finals breakdown back there. This is his last final for the semester, meaning it should be the last breakdown of its kind for a while, but all the same it hurts to listen to. 

“You’ll be fine, seriously,” is all the support he can offer up. He has no precise frame of reference for how immensely catastrophic this test could be for Lio. 

Their journey ends at the nearby community college, where Lio’s been attending adult learning classes for his accelerated double major in poli sci and bio for the past two years. Lio practically jumps off the bike, reddened and bruised eyes fixed on his phone and intently working through a set of Quizlet flashcards. He promptly trips over the curb and slams abruptly into an oily puddle in the pavement. 

“Jesus, fuck,” Lio half-yells, half-sobs. His left knee is soaked in greasy water and is bleeding profusely through a newly formed hole in his jeans. 

“Oh my god. Holy shit. Lio, are you okay,” Galo asks as he swiftly dismounts the bike. A side pouch on his bike sports a fairly robust first-aid pack, and he unearths a fresh roll of gauze, antiseptic, a few cotton tipped swabs, and miniature tissue forceps. As Galo makes his way around the bike and towards Lio, he can catch a better view of his fallen lover. Lio’s eyes are glossy with a new bout of unshed tears and his face is bright red with embarrassment and potentially rage. 

“What the fuck,” Lio says, bluntly, in lieu of any commentary regarding how ‘okay’ he is. Which. It is fairly evident that Lio is not. 

“Listen, let me just quickly bandage you, and then you can get into your test. You’ve still got like twenty minutes.” 

Lio waves a hand in acquiescence, already zoning out at the admixture of pain and stress. He hardly speaks as Galo quickly cleans, debrides, and bandages the wound. A few minutes later, Lio’s knee is tightly secured in gauze, leaving a decidedly unseemly gaping hole in his jeans, which are stiff and smell faintly of iron from the sheer amount of blood that they are doused in. 

Galo gently places his hands on Lio’s either shoulder, “Okay, time to get this show on the road!” No amount of false cheer can upend the obvious anxiety Lio’s going through. When Lio tilts his face to gaze at Galo, the moonlight works only to highlight Lio’s haggard expression. 

Lio looks like a whole mess and there is nothing Galo wants more than to drive him back to his home and let him sleep and then cook for him and kiss him. But, being a supportive boyfriend means supporting Lio though the hard times. At least that’s what his therapist says. 

So, instead, Galo helps him up, plants a chaste peck on his cheek, and then guides him to the testing center’s entrance. 

“Dude, I think I’m going to die.” 

“You’re not going to die. I promise if you do poorly, you can always just re-take the course over the summer. I promise it’s not the end of the world. It’s okay. Take a deep breath.”

Lio inhales sharply with the expression of a drowning man.

“Walk into class, sit down, and just take the test. We’ll figure things out together from there. Me, Gueira, and Meis - we’ll all be cheering you on.” He gently thumbs the divot between Lio’s eyelid and lower cheek, where a couple of tears have accumulated. 

Lio nods, gives a weak smile, and then turns to walk through the doors as if walking to his own gallows. When Galo loses sight of him as he turns the corner into his classroom, he begins his walk over to the nearby diner, where he had planned to meet up with Gueira and Meis. He takes a slow pace, pre-occupied with his phone as he types out a quick encouraging text to Lio, who responds quickly with a pink shimmering heart emoji. His meandering path is cut-off by the rapid arrival of a huge sexy ass 9 Husqvarna Nuda 900 and a pitch-black, sleek, and gleaming Suzuki SV650. They have nothing on his own MV Agusta F4, but they are beautiful all the same. 

The two bikes rev even faster within the proximal area of the diner’s parking lot, it appears that they’re vying for the closest parking spot to the diner’s entrance??? 

Gueira’s Husqvarna slots into the coveted spot with a dangerous flourish, leaving a garish skidmark on the asphalt as it turns a ballsy 180 on its rear wheel. His feral, full-toothed grin shines in the moonlight, directed towards Meis who has pulled his ride into the same parking spot, half his bike protruding from the spot. They both look in love as they begin to work through an oft-repeated bit regarding who the victor  _ really _ is. 

It’s been a while since Galo’s seen either of them, given that both Gueira and Meis moved in together and now live on the far outskirts of Promepolis. Like Lio, they’ve taken on more internal roles within Burnish community activism, affording them with the opportunity to get the hell out of Promepolis. Which is great, since the city doesn’t exactly bring back stellar memories for either of them, as Galo learned a couple of months ago over more than a couple of beers. 

“Hey, what the fuck is up, losers,” Galo hollers, at the top of his lungs. His voice bounces across the empty lot and Meis and Gueira put an end to their couple’s spate to wave him over. 

“You almost fucking ran me over! Imagine my beautiful ass flattened at the hands of your sub-par vehicles.” 

This, predictably, elicits an amicable half-argument, half-bit, regarding whose ride is the sexiest. It is clear to Galo that his is superior, beautiful, and perfect. The conversation and sniping continues up til they order a healing array of breakfast food and a copious amount of coffee. They’d planned on taking Lio out for some celebratory clubbing after he passed his last exam, so they’ll surely need the caffeine. 

Soon, a plate of thin chocolate waffles, doused in a sweet and cloying film of maple syrup; a stack of raspberry crepes; and three thick slices of molten french toast have been served up and eaten with appropriate fervor. A black plastic to-go box is tucked in the back corner of the booth’s table, filled with a single thin blueberry waffle coated with a fine dust of powdered sugar: celebratory food reserved for Lio. 

Sipping at still-hot coffee, Meis raises his eyes over his mug, looking across the booth to Galo. 

“So, how’s cuffed life in Promepolis treating you?” 

“WhAT.” Galo says, half-shouting. 

“What?” Meis asks, voice dripping with faux-sincere surprise. Galo knows it is fake because it is frankly not so surprising that Galo’d shout in the dead of night in the middle of a practically empty diner. 

“Uh, ‘cuffed’?!” Galo says, replete with expressive air-quotes. “That’s kind of. A big word to describe me and Lio’s relationship.” 

Gueira pshaw’s, “Y’all have been together for a wholeass six months now, right?” 

Okay. Okay, that’s a fair point. Maybe? God, whatever. Two can play at this game. Or, three, considering that Meis and Gueira appear to be equally in on this. 

“Okay, but I think that ‘cuffed’ is more of a term that I’d use to describe a married couple. Like y’all, for example.” 

Galo’s joking proposition falls a bit flat as Gueira and Meis both go beet-red and wide-eyed simultaneously. 

“About that…” Gueira starts, hesitantly, before being cut off by a solid shove courtesy of Meis, who is shooting him an intense glare.

“Not without  _ Lio _ !” 

Galo’s eyes widen in turn. “Not without Lio,  _ what _ ?!” 

It is at that moment that the man of the hour, Lio Fotia, bursts through the diner’s doors, clad in a skin-tight hot pink mesh shirt and black leather pants. (Galo gives him props for the kickass bar hopping attire but it’s fucking funny as hell to consider that he had that all on underneath while he was eking out his last final exam of the semester.) 

“Who the  _ fuck _ is ready to party!” Lio Fotia asks of Galo, Gueira, and Meis. As well as the other world-weary patrons of the diner, who are caught in the collateral damage of Lio’s high decibel hype. 

“Oh shit, he’s here. Perfect timing!” Guiera states as he holds up his hand, which is clasped with Meis’. Both hands bear a single silver band around the ring finger. 

  
And that’s when shit  _ pops off _ . 


End file.
